


the deepest parts of this sin-ridden body

by smallredboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: 5 Things, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catholicism, Developing Relationship, Hero Worship Kinda, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, One Night Stands, Prayer, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 03:51:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20735783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Five times Chase prayed after sleeping with a man.





	the deepest parts of this sin-ridden body

**Author's Note:**

> some additional warnings i didn't know how to put on the tags without it seeming like Too Much: mentions of conversion therapy, using sex to cope, age gaps (not exclusively between house/chase), alcohol & references to alcoholism in regards to chase's mother, and one single joke by foreman weaponizing white people's fetishization of Black men.
> 
> title from _faggot_ by sam vance-law, which is one of my favorite songs. the fic was inspired by that song too, but not enough to warrant a songfic tag.
> 
> for 15woes with the square "conversion".
> 
> enjoy!

i.

The first time Chase has sex with a man, he’s in undergrad.

The party had made a place for itself in his body, the thumping of the bass making his soul tremble. He looks around, nursing a plastic cup of Coke after saying hurriedly that he didn’t drink. He should thank God for the fact that none of the people at the party care enough to bother him about his choices. Talking about his dead mother isn’t a particularly cool party trick, he reckons.

But there is alcohol everywhere, people in varying states of sobriety, yelling, dancing, and it’s all too familiar. He clenches his jaw and stays away from the dancefloor, taking small sips from his Coke. One of the men in quite a precarious state is one of his classmates, Vincent, something or the other. Curls shape his sun-kissed face, and the rumors about him are in the bad parts of campus. 

Most people don’t care about it, but Chase does. Oh, Chase does care about the fact one of his classmates is gay.

It’s not that he hates gay people, though. He’s never had a problem with gay people, as soon as he realized what the sermons at church were really saying. Loving your neighbor was more important than who said neighbor loved. But he has to know, shake the worry out of his head.

He’s had sex before. A few girls here and there, it had all been okay, but he has to know, scratch that itch that screams at him. If what he thinks about himself is right, then, he has many things to do to get it out of his system. So his life is normal, so his father never finds out and stops paying his expenses, so everyone still enjoys his company. Or something. He’s read articles about conversion therapy— it sounds enticing, yes. To be normal, in case of him being abnormal. 

So Vincent is getting out of the dancefloor, and he’s stopping him on the spot.

“Hey,” he says. He doesn’t see an issue with going straight to the point. The music is too loud for anyone to hear apart from him. “I have a question.”

“Yeah?” Vincent says, raising a brow as he rests against the wall, sweat coating his forehead.

“Can we fuck?”

Vincent’s eyes light up. “I knew you were one of us. Sure, whatever, let’s go to my dorm.”

Chase pulls a face. “I’m not gay,” he says. “Just proving that.”

He gives him a brow raise. Vincent is only a tad tipsy, a few drinks on him and he doesn’t seem to buy what he says. It makes his guts twist, but he ignores it. He has to ignore it. 

They make their way through campus, Vincent leaning against him from time to time, hiccuping and rambling about anything and everything. He pulls him inside his dorm room and kisses him, like he’s trying to devour the denial out of him, like he wants to make a place for himself inside Chase. And it’s working.

He’d like to claim he was drunk when the afterglow comes in. He’d like to claim he doesn’t remember the way Vincent grabs his hips, the way they kiss as they grind up against each other. He’d like to claim every part of Vincent’s body isn’t imprinted in his brain. The way his hips move, how the small of his back feels, how his lips taste like whiskey and smoke, how he grabs him and he kisses him like he adores him. He soaks in every little detail in those minutes they’re doing something, something, because it’s not penetrative, it’s simply adoration. Experimentation, in Chase’s side.

He’d like to claim that he doesn’t know if he liked it or not, but his heart knows that sex (if you could call what they had, with fumbling hands, hiccups, laughter that) with Vincent was so much better than all the trysts he had with girls.

He swallows thickly as he lays down on Vincent’s bed. It’s far too small for the two of them.

“Are you going?” he asks, yawning, making himself comfortable.

“In a second,” he replies.

He lays on his side, away from Vincent’s sight, and folds his hands together without thinking twice.

More than a prayer, it’s a plea. He moves his lips, tries to match the way his heart wilts in his chest, but he doesn’t dare say a single word out loud.

Lead us not into temptation. The words echo in his head. Lead us not into temptation and deliver us from evil. Because if he keeps this up— if he keeps this up, this evil will consume him, take over his life. He can see those caricatures coming to life inside him; the sex-crazed faggot, a drunk bastard at gay clubs asking for the next hit, the next quickie. His life ruined, his career ruined.

He has to find out about how to fix himself and fast.

_ Amen. _

ii.

Chase encounters Vincent once again after someone sees right through him.

He’s still trying not to panic over it, but a guy in campus had seen. He had tore him apart into pieces, dug into his entrails and saw his secret and spat out that word. Fucking faggot, he had called as he made his way away from him, not even letting Chase get a good look at him. He knows he plays at their college’s rugby team, but if someone asked him to pick him out of a line-up of their players, he knows he wouldn’t be able to.

Vincent is there for him, although in not a way that’s healthy or good. He fucks into him and groans, mumbling nonsense, face coated with sweat as he works into him. Chase breathes hard, tears pricking at his eyes as he grabs onto his rosary like tomorrow won’t come. He looks up at Vincent, hand wrapped around his necklace, around the cross, like it’ll protect him from all the evil inside him and all the evil outside in the world.

“It’s okay,” Vincent breathes, tilting his head down as he kisses him. “It’s okay, fuck, Chase…”

He whimpers, tears sliding down his cheeks as he clings onto him. “Please,” he breathes out.

“It’s okay,” he breathes. “It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine, Chase.”

But it’s not. It’s not.

When they’re both finished, Chase hurries to the bathroom of Vincent’s dorm, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His cheeks are red and splotchy with tears, his hair a mess. A sob bubbles up out of his throat and he closes his eyes.

All his pleas have gone unheard.

“Please, dear Lord,” he breathes, “please fix me.” He doesn’t want to be beaten up, he doesn’t want to be called a faggot, he doesn’t want people to stare at him with disgust because they see something he has tried to hide so, so hard. He wants to be normal. “Please, Lord, I will give you anything for you to fix me. Just show me a sign.”

His stomach unfurls. It hurts unreasonably. 

He turns around and gets out of the bathroom.

“Can I stay here for the night?” he asks.

Vincent tilts his head. “Of course, Chase. Feel at home.”

He nods. He hopes Vincent doesn’t do anything more, doesn’t kiss him slow, doesn’t ask for anything more out of him. He swallows thickly as he makes his way to the free bed, curling up into it.

iii.

It’s hard to deny that the man he found at the club has some striking similarities to House.

His name is Markus and he must be older than him by at least a decade. He’s sure of himself in a way that leaves him dumbfounded— he makes his way through the club like he owns the place and sits down next to Chase, grinning at him. He’s oh so much taller than him, nice stubble, gray-blue eyes that pierce into his skin.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, tilting his head.

Chase looks at him and swallows thickly, his heart thumping against his ribcage. “I don’t see why not,” he replies carefully.

The night goes on like that, making small talk and taking sips of cheap whiskey. If it was for him, he wouldn’t be drinking alcohol— too many unpleasant memories associated with it— but he has the intrinsic need to impress Markus. He’s older, and he’s nice, all smug smiles and twinkling eyes. He needs the validation, as he always had. Chase fiddles with his hands as he gets a little tipsy.

“We should get going, no?” Markus asks, grinning at him like he’s prey.

Chase nods and stands up, his stomach quivering a little with nerves. “We should.”

When they get to Markus’ place, Chase immediately gets slammed onto the wall, Markus’ hands on him, disrobing him. There’s no questions, nothing, no pauses or patience. Markus is clearly more experienced than him, with all those years of difference, but it doesn’t stop him from being surprised.

He moans into Markus’ mouth, clinging onto him as he pulls away to grab some lube.

When they finish, Chase collapses against the wall, breathing hard as he sinks onto the floor. Markus is still upright, looming over him, and for a moment he’s so similar to House (with the way he’s threatening, a punishing figure, smirking at him), that he can imagine what House will think of him if he realizes he’s— that he’s this.

House calling him a faggot, House outing him to the entire hospital, House—

He’s been his boss for a year and a few months. He’s still threading the needle carefully, making sure that he isn’t particularly flamboyant about anything. But with how he feels about him, he knows he’ll eventually figure it out. He’ll mock him. Oh, you’re a pansy and you want me to use you. That’s fucking pathetic. He can hear his voice, the way he’d sneer, the way he’d shake his head.

He scrambles to his feet, looking at the floor. “I’ll, ah, get going in a second. I have to go to the bathroom.”

Markus’ smirk disappears— he just smiles at him, steps away and fixes his pants. “Sure. You can shower if you want.”

He shakes his head a little and heads to the bathroom, closing the door behind himself. He fiddles with his jeans, buttoning them back up before he falls to his knees, folding his hands together. He’d like to claim he’s back to his old routine of hating himself, of calling himself a good-for-nothing pansy. And he’s still that, sure, but he’s not praying for that right now.

“Please, Lord,” he mumbles, “please don’t let him find out. Don’t let House know how I feel about him, that I’m— that I’m gay,” he chokes the last word out like it’s poison. “I can’t let him know that I’m this. Please, Lord. That’s all I ask of you. Let me be hidden from his sight.”

After what feels like an infinity and more, he slowly pulls his hands away from each other, rests them on his thighs. He doesn’t quite open his eyes until he deems that he’s ready to leave; he stands up, gets out of the bathroom and grabs his shirt and his jacket. He doesn’t even care that he smells of sex, that he’s practically doing the walk of shame when he could’ve not done that easily.

“See you,” he says curtly.

“See you. Hit me up any time.”

Chase has his number, but he doesn’t call.

iv.

Foreman is a great lay, all things considered.

They’re both sober to the bone, and it’s only awkward because of the fact they’re coworkers. Chase isn’t surprised when he ends up laying on his back, Foreman kissing him hungrily, like the world is ending and this is the last thing they’re doing. Foreman eventually collapses on top of him, breathing heavily as he pulls his boxers back up and rolls onto the other side of the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Well,” Foreman starts. “That was… something.”

Chase picks at his own shirt. “I guess so. We should never do it again.”

Foreman scoffs. “Was I really that bad?”

“No! It’s just— House will catch up onto it.”

“And?” He tilts his head. “He’ll make some jokes, Cameron will know we have sex with men. What’s the big deal?”

Chase clenches his jaw. He doesn’t know how to explain that his thing with House goes much farther than oh he’ll make some jokes, especially when he doesn’t have anything to back his explanation up. It’s all been glances, words unspoken, the fact they both want more; their own issues, HR and Cuddy on their tail, stopping them from doing anything except chaste kisses in the locker room.

He doesn’t reply and folds his hands almost in instinct. If anything, he’s glad that he’s come to terms with himself— he has other things to pray about, now. Like for House to understand, for the world to understand, for everything to turn out alright. 

Foreman straightens up and looks at him curiously. “What are you praying for?”

Chase squeaks in surprise, too submerged in talking with Him to realize Foreman’s in front of him. His dialogue with God has been so much more open, like a friendship that didn’t sail all that smoothly. But now they’ve found their pace.

“Well—” he starts.

“Is it for you to be able to go back, now that you’ve gone black?” Foreman teases.

Chase unfurls his hands and he laughs, a vibrant noise that comes naturally. He sticks his tongue out at Foreman. “Oh, shut up, Foreman.”

He snorts. “No.” He settles back down on the bed. “But truly, what’s the big deal with House finding out we’re sleeping together?”

“He’ll be jealous,” he says to the ceiling.

Foreman stares at him. “He’ll be what?”

“Jealous,” he repeats. “Listen, it’s complicated, but we’re fiddling at something in here and we just both have so many issues so we haven’t taken the next step—”

Foreman sits up, speechless for a good few seconds. “You’re — in a relationship with House?” he asks. “HR is going to kick your ass.”

Chase bites the inside of his cheek. “I wouldn’t really call it a relationship. But — they can’t kick my ass if they don’t find out.” He pauses. “And if anything, they’ll kick House’s ass. He’s the boss, the one who’s clearly manipulating me into not even sleeping with him.” He makes air quotes on the word manipulate.

“You two haven’t fucked yet?” he asks. “For a horny beast such as House—”

“Don’t ever call him that again—”

“I would’ve thought he had wrecked you the day after your interview. Like, damn.”

Chase snorts. “He actually has decency, thank you very much.”

“That’s news to me.”

He rolls his eyes and grabs his boxers and his pants, putting them on quickly. “It’s news to me too. Wish me luck on warming his cold, dead heart. Perhaps I’ll even get it to a lukewarm temperature.”

Foreman gives him a good-natured smile. “Good luck. If you need breakup sex, I’m your man.”

“You’re not going to be a sidepiece!” he exclaims, face scarlet. “This was a one time thing!”

Foreman laughs as Chase makes his way out of his apartment.

v.

When House and Chase finally get into bed together, Chase would like to claim it was magical. That they fit together like pieces of a puzzle, that there were no awkward moments, that it was taken right out of a movie scene. That they made love as the moonlight shone outside their hotel room. Or something like that.

But it’s not. There’s a few mishaps with House’s leg, awkward positions and pain flare-ups, and Chase is awkward, fumbling with his clothes, hiccuping as nerves overwhelm him. He can’t help but be nervous around House, really; it’s a part of his life, even as they get closer and closer. House is so perfect— he tries not to sound worshipful, like he’s not comparing him to God, but he always fails. He sinks to his knees on the foot of the bed and takes him in, eyes fluttering shut with devotion.

When they’re done, Chase is breathing hard, eyes searching for House’s own. He glances at him, smiling a little as he pulls him into a hungry kiss. He tastes like holiness.

“How was that?” House asks, almost like he’s about to tease about the way he treats him like he’s something divine. It’s not his fault he _ is _something divine, that he wants him like he wants absolution from any guilt he has leftover in his heart.

“Good,” he says, clearing his throat a little. “Very good.”

They still haven’t quite talked. There’s only silence instead of a talk about exclusivity, about if they’re dating, about if House has any idea he and Foreman slept together and how he feels about it. The thought about House being possessive, wrapping his arms around him, giving death glares to people who want him— it makes him warm inside out.

“You were very good, too,” House tells him, hand reaching to caress his cheek, a calloused palm pressing against it. He doesn’t take long to blush and lean into the touch, smiling dumbly. “Always good.”

Chase wants to say thank you, to be reverent, to show him just how much those words mean to him. He doesn’t say it, though— he doesn’t say anything, except a small nod of acknowledgement.

“I’m going to the bathroom, be right back,” he says, leaning in to kiss House before doing so, closing the door behind himself.

When he gets on his knees and folds his hands together, he’s reminded of far worse situations. Years ago he prayed to be fixed, to get an opportunity to go through a conversion of some sort, for God to send him a sign, show him the light. He’s happy in his own skin now, but he has another plea for God.

“I want this to work,” he starts. “I want us to be happy. I love him, Lord. I love him. I want this to work.”

He stays there for several minutes, eyes shut tight, his hands pressed together firmly. 

When he’s done, he feels like he’s lighter. He gets out of the bathroom and reaches for House’s bed, wrapping his arms around his middle and kissing his cheek. House doesn’t question it, although he’s sure he knows that he was praying.

He rests his head on House’s shoulder. He knows this can work out.

**Author's Note:**

> some notes:  
\- in the first scene, i named the guy chase slept with vincent as a reference to _i lost my innocence_ by ezra furman, which is about a gay awakening, so i thought it'd fit.  
\- the last scene has some big inspiration taken from _cherubim_ by serpentwithfeet which is a whole religious gay mood.  
\- as always, i've taken some inspiration off richard siken's poems.
> 
> thank you for reading, please kudo and/or comment if you enjoyed it! hit me up at [my writing blog](https://smallredb0y.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


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